


What if this is all the love you ever get?

by sorrens



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Comfort, Crowley cries blood, Idiots in Love, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Mild Blood, Mild Language, Post-Apocalypse, Post-Canon, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, ish, sorry bout formatting, unbearable angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-19
Updated: 2019-06-22
Packaged: 2020-05-14 18:15:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19278769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sorrens/pseuds/sorrens
Summary: Now that The Arrangement is no longer needed, Crowley gets ready for Aziraphale to cut ties.TW: Self harm for both chapters





	1. Demon's Tears

It starts with a probing comment, that Crowley tried to disguise as casual conversation over lunch. A litmus test of sorts. The Ritz is crowded. The oblivious patrons dined like it was any old day. The young couple toasting to their future together. A business deal being negotiated over elegant pastries. They’d fallen in to a comfortable silence some time ago.

Crowley was on his fourth glass of champagne and was beginning to wish for something stronger.

“So,” he wasn’t sure why it came out as bitter, but it did. “I guess we’re free now? No more Arrangement?” He cracked a weak smile in Aziraphale’s direction.

The angel stared back at him impassively, putting down his fork.

“Well, I suppose there’s not much else to it of course. I can’t imagine my side will be sending down any orders. We’re practically…human.” His face softened with endearment.

There was a silence and Crowley mentally rehearsed his next move.

“Good thing you don’t have to hang around a demon anymore. Maybe now your life won’t be tainted by my existence.” That wasn’t what he’d planned to say, with such venom in his voice. Of course, it’s what he’d been thinking for most of the meal now. Knowing the inevitable, he wanted more than anything to get in first, to be the one to declare independence. It wasn’t that the angel didn’t need him anymore. He didn’t need the angel. It’d hurt slightly less.

There was a clatter as his fork dropped suddenly.

“I’m sorry, my dear. What? I-“ Crowley was standing up, pulling a pile of notes from his pocket and throwing them on to the table. He didn’t look at Aziraphale as he left, whatever was said he tuned out. Cutting through the crowds of diners Crowley made it to the exit unimpeded.

He hesitated, just half a second, as if to prove that Zira had his chance to disagree — to stop him — to cry out over the cacophony of diners that _it wasn’t like that_. Sure, he’d hardly given him a fair chance but then again… when was he ever fair?*

 

It was raining and Crowley was fuming as he exited the Ritz. In an instant he’d raised his wings to shelter him as he strode off down the street, though he’d not brought not in the visible plain, they were still able to shield him from the downpour until he reached the Bentley. He spent most of the drive back to his flat wrestling with cassette player and not watching the road. The Bentley had chewed through his entire Beastie Boys collection and now spat out Queen’s Love of My Life, despite him pressing every button in vain.

“Fuck!” He slammed his hands on the steering wheel in surrender.

Aziraphale had lit up his world for the time they’d worked together: metaphorically and literally (he did have an ethereal glow). Humanity was messed up in ways even Crowley couldn’t take credit for. Somehow, despite his innate nature, he’d felt the years of quietly observing genocide and corruption and ecological degradation wearing away at his very essence. Whenever he’d voiced this to Aziraphale, he could have sworn a small smile had tugged at the corners of the Angel’s mouth.

“That’s not very demon-like,” he’d scold and they would laugh.

But it was there, unspoken and bubbling away under the surface. He was a demon. Whether or not Aziraphale’s influence had made him lose sight of what he was hardwired to feel he wasn’t quite sure. He thought of Aziraphale’s repeated insistence that Adam needed to be killed. An angel advocating for killing people, well, that reeked of a demon’s influence. They had been slowly corrupting each other.

Maybe it was his imagination, or maybe the car was messing with him, but it seemed as if Freddie Mercury’s crooning had gotten louder,

_…Love of my life, you've hurt me…_

drowned out his thoughts. Crowley didn’t try to read in to the meaning of the lyrics, rather, forced his mind blank.A pain unlike he’d ever experienced began to form in his chest, and if it weren’t for the case that he was most-definitely-not-human he would have been certain it was a heart attack. _No, this was new_. His eyes prickled and vision blurred. _Wait, he’d never actually—_

The Bentley pulled up at his flat just as the first tear trickled out from under Crowley’s sunglasses, and to his horror, he watch the blood-red droplet fall on to the steering wheel. He frantically wiped his eyes with his sleeves and withdrew. The blood was smeared up his wrists and blazer.

Crowley was usually pretty good around blood. Besides, with demons it kinda came with the job description. But looking at himself in the car mirror, he felt overwhelming repulsion. Sick to the stomach, that even in his most vulnerable state, there was no escaping the ugliness of being what his was. **Crying blood.** Now that was very demon like. He didn’t bother to wipe his face before he exited the Bentley and crossed the road. There were a few hurried shouts behind him as pedestrians noticed the state of his face and hands, but they gave him a wide berth as he headed to his building.

He had been crying in the elevator, through the halls, _oh that’s going to be a bitch to clean up_ he thought but when he got in to his flat he simply collapsed on the floor and continued sobbing. _This is pathetic_ , he chided after a few minutes face down on the cold stone floor _, pull yourself together, you’ve got all of eternity left to enjoy._

What was the rest of eternity alone, anyway? Demons were much for friendships. Sure, there were a few out there who mightn’t discorporate you for a laugh when the workload dried up. It was an awful existence, constantly having to watch your back. Somehow, for the last 6000 years, he’d managed to avoid that…mostly by remaining proximal to Aziraphale as he knew he was undetectable when shrouded in the angel’s grace.

Hang on… was that what he’d been doing for thousands of years? Cowering behind his angel? Was every moment he spent with Aziraphale motivated by protection? He, lazy and wily, had found the perfect host to latch on to, and use, and the poor angel was too naive to see what he’d been doing.

Anger and self hatred swelling up in his chest and spilled over as an overwhelming desire to be unconscious.

Through a fresh round of tears, Crowley found himself slamming his head in to the floor.

“Please, please, please.” He cried out in pain, his glasses shattered and fell off. A head splitting pain blossomed from the site that had connected with the stone. He didn’t know what he was trying to achieve. He couldn’t quite stop. The room was spinning around him as he gasped and retched, willing himself to lose consciousness and forget all of the pain. The guilt of existing.

Perhaps he did pass out for a moment, or an hour, but he woke to a warmth and (that same) head splitting pain.

He was vaguely aware that whoever was cradling his head was swearing, profusely, fluently, hardly the language of—

“Angel?” Crowley was certain he was hallucinating. Blue, worried eyes bobbed around in his vision until suddenly the room was thrown in to sharp relief. His senses had miraculously righted themselves. The pain in his head abated. He looked down, he was still covered in blood.

“ — What did you…?” He could hear the raw emotion in the angel’s voice, the heartbreak, the fear.

“Did you do this to yourself?” Aziraphale dragged Crowley in to a sitting position, gazing searchingly in to his eyes.

“No, I, um…” Crowley spluttered a bit. “I was upset and—“ he felt a bit sick saying it “I cry blood.”

Aziraphale exhaled sharply. “You cry—“

“Yeah, I know it’s disgusting.” Crowley interrupted bitterly. “I’m disgusting. But we all knew that.”

The angel made a noise in the back of his throat and leaned in.

“My dear, what makes you think that?” He tentatively stroked the demon’s cheek, dried blood began to flake off.

“Oh, blast,” He wave his other hand and suddenly Crowley was back to normal. The demon looked away, embarrassed.

“I’m scum.”

Aziraphale made a noise to interject but Crowley raised his voice and continued.

“Even if you look past what I do as my job as a purveyor of genocide, famine and hostility. My whole existence is self-serving. I befriended you because I stood to gain something from the relationship. Hell, I corrupted you, just by being around all these years. I’m not deserving of anyone’s pity, not the least yours. Please just leave me.”

The last part was pleading, and almost brought on a fresh wave of tears. _No, no, no!_ somewhere in his mind scrambled to take it back. He wanted Aziraphale to stay, more than anything in eternity. He wanted everything to go back to normal, when their Arrangement let him bask in the angel’s light on a daily basis. He wanted to be a human, with Zira, but he was fundamentally not. The angel was almost like a prototype of the good in humanity, he fit in on earth just fine. Crowley, however, was flawed and damned, the sliver of blood working its way down his cheek attesting to that.

Aziraphale let out a small sigh, lips turning downwards, a pained expression on his face.

 _“Darling,”_ This tone caught Crowley by surprised and he froze.

It occurred to him that the angel’s face was so close to his own and neither of them were moving, just gazing at each other. Zira had plenty of things he wanted to say, but perhaps the most succinct of them all could be achieved by action. He leaned forward, closing the gap between them and pulling Crowley in to a chaste kiss. It stung a little as their lips brushed against each other, as if maybe their bodies were rejecting the kiss.

Crowley withdrew quickly, heart sinking.

 **“No,”** Zira grabbed him by the lapels of his blazer and pulled him back in.

This kiss was passionate and exploratory. Sure, it burned, but Crowley also saw fireworks.

“I need you.” The angel broke away breathlessly and Crowley found himself looking in to the face of absolute adoration, unable to doubt the sincerity.

This naive little angel couldn’t lie to save himself.

For some reason, this naive little angel didn’t seem to want to live without Crowley.

For a demon whose self hatred had run rampant since the Apocalypse, it was really quite an odd revelation. But it was one he was willing to take on board.


	2. Angel Tears

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shoutout to Lorean who asked for Azi's comfort. I wrote more... and it got a little angsty... but I think I got back around to the comfort in the end.

It was late in the evening and the two of them sat in Crowley’s lounge room in semi-darkness. They hadn’t spoken for a few hours, since Aziraphale had helped Crowley up off the floor and moved him over to the couch. The large TV in the corner flickered to life and the same two episodes of Golden Girls had been playing on repeat since. The angel was sitting in an armchair watching Crowley intently, who’d stared resolutely at the TV as if nothing was amiss.

The episode was ending (again) and Aziraphale took the opportunity to get a word in before the credits rolled.

“Crowley, can we talk, please?“ his tone was steeped in sorrow.

Crowley took the remote and muted the show but didn’t look away from the screen. _Close enough,_ thought the angel.

 

“I, uh, I didn’t realised that you had quite so much… going on.” He cringed slightly at the choice of words. 

Crowley gave a hollow laugh.

“What did you think I had “going on”, angel? That I was reassured to be a piece-of-crap demon, and not even a good bad demon at that? That I was proud that my greatest achievements aren’t even really mine? That I wanted to leave rather than fight for my side?  No, I’m a mess of faulty wiring. All I do is malfunction.”

Whilst he’d been speaking, Aziraphale had quietly crept over to the couch, and now sunk down next to Crowley’s sprawled figure. Crowley flinched slightly at the proximity and Zira’s heart crumbled just that little bit more. He leaned in until they were shoulder to shoulder and rested his head on Crowley.

“You aren’t broken.“ his breath felt hot against Crowley’s cheek. Crowley’s instincts were screaming at him to run, to escape, but then emotion kicked in and he just sagged further in to the cushions.

“Do you know how painful it is to Fall?” He asked hoarsely. The angel shook his head slightly. “It’s not the actual falling that’s painful. Well, that’s over in a few seconds. It’s only when you begin to see where you’ve fallen to, what you’ve become, that’s when the pain really begins to hit home. It’s the pain of looking at yourself in a mirror and not recognising the eyes that look back at you. Of relishing in the inconveniences and temptations you’re instructed to do, whilst a tiny remnant of an angel’s conscious screams out for you to stop. You’re betraying your very origins, but you don’t belong there anymore, and every part of your essence is fighting not to belong in hell either.”

Aziraphale shuddered slightly, and Crowley looked down to find tears clinging to the angel’s eyelashes.

“All of that swagger, the bravado, the fast cars and flashy sunglasses…” the angel hiccuped “I thought you were happy, but you were hiding.”

Crowley smiled knowingly.

“It’s a lot easier not to hate yourself by reinventing yourself. Helps you ignore the unpleasantness of reality.” Aziraphale moved forward, until he was nearly curled up on Crowley’s lap. There was something more there, something unspoken, only captured in the bitter tone of Crowley’s voice.

“My dear?” He moved to take Crowley’s hands but the demon shook him off.

“What’re you—“ Crowley hissed and suddenly they were wrestling, as the angel tried to roll up his sleeves whilst he resisted. There was a sharp intake of breath. Aziraphale had Crowley pinned against the couch and pulled up his sleeves to reveal forearms tracked with red welts and scraps.

“What the fuck is this?” Aziraphale’s voice cracked. Crowley didn’t have an answer to give. As he stared resolutely at the ground there was a soft tickle as the angel traced his fingers over the scars. Wordlessly, the angel collapsed in to him, his body wracked with sobs. His arms wrapped themselves around Crowley’s slim frame, squeezing him tighter than any snake could manage.

“You are not broken.” He breathed between bouts of tears. “You are more special, more worthy than any angel I’ve ever met. Damn them all! I’m sorry, I’m so bloody sorry that I’ve been so blind to everything this whole time. I didn’t think, well, I didn’t think you needed me.”

In spite of everything, Crowley let out a small chuckle.

“Didn’t need you, angel? I’ve never needed anything else, all these centuries.”

Aziraphale sat up in wonderment.

“All of them, this whole time?” He gaped, bringing his hands to cup the demon’s face. “But you’ve never…” 

Crowley grimaced bitterly.

“I didn’t think I had a chance.” 

“Didn’t have a chance,” said Aziraphale bemusedly, tears tracked down his cheeks but smiling with a radiance. “My dear, there was never any question.” He wiped away his tears, hands moving down to grasp Crowley’s forearms. There was a warmth as the angel’s tears made contact with the wounds, and his arms were healed before their eyes. 

I want you to be able to forgive yourself, value and care for yourself. You deserve to be here.” Aziraphale pulled the demon upright and drew him in to a gentle hug. “And if it’s not that easy, it’s a burden I want you to share with me.”

Crowley drew back and surveyed the angel carefully.

“It’s a bit of baggage,” as though giving him the option to back out of the promise. “Are you sure?” But Aziraphale pushed him back on to the couch and leaned down so that they were nose to nose.

“Of course I am you idiot.”

Crowley was distantly aware that if the kiss was at all painful for the angel too, he did not show it. After a few minutes in their passionate embrace, in fact, Aziraphale made light work of kissing every bare inch of the demon’s skin. And after each kiss he whispered a soft “mine,” that made Crowley squirm with joy. For perhaps the first time in all the empty centuries, Crowley glimpsed what it might feel like to be whole, and he knew the angel would stay for eternity if it meant helping him find it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I started writing this fic because I was writing an essay on attachment styles and it started to get me thinking about the A/C dynamic. I'm hoping to eventually actually do a proper character study fic, but this story was born out of the notion that Crowley has a very insecure attachment with Azi due to his perceived self-worth etc. thought it didn't exactly make it to the extent that I wanted to explore it.

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be fluff but it took (multiple) dark turns.  
> Sorry, writing chemistry is so difficult for me (I am but an oblivious ace) and so I kinda skimped on the ending.
> 
> Title from the Snow Patrol song of the same name, it's a very angsty ineffable husbands song imo.
> 
>  
> 
> I'm on Tumblr at [@sorrens](https://sorrens.tumblr.com)
> 
> If you enjoyed this, please feel free to browse my other Good Omens fics. I've written a few AUs, some angst, some crack, some questionable use of internet humour, basically ineffable husbands in many flavours.


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